


our selves are honest reflections of the soul

by RenderedReversed



Series: Original Work [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Free Verse, Gen, Poetry, Self-Portrait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: My spaces consist of a bedroom, a computer desk,and a café on occasions when the line is longerthan expected.





	our selves are honest reflections of the soul

My spaces consist of a bedroom, a computer desk,

and a café on occasions when the line is longer

than expected. The weather is always sunburn

or frostbite for me, as I never check the news

to wear the right clothes. On days

the rain has called a rest I listen to music

that I cannot understand, Japanese and Korean

and maybe French. I read the English translations

on a separate Internet browser and think about love,

power, and opportunities. They are organized

by the genres that I wish I could feel.

The folder for sex is empty.

I read romances that end in happily ever after,

saving my progress with dog ears when the birds

start their morning rollcall. I like to hide my face

in scarves so I can bury myself in cotton and wool,

recycling my warmth into something foreign.

Sometimes I take long walks on campus to lose my mind

in peace, where the only witnesses are the strangers

I’ll never speak to and the pigeons that pick

at every stray crumb of cookie or bread.

I love the white of swans in algae-thick lakes,

the cluster of turtle shells nearby the reeds. I see them

once every half-year when nature beckons

to a primal urge: to feel tree-filtered winds catch

on the goosebumps of my arm, to roam a dirt-path

beneath the murmuring of the sun. Indoors

lies my home planet, consisting of myself and I.

My friends are dormant, sleeping in grey chat rooms

that I’m too tired to click.

My sister is a text away at all times—a distance

I barely cross.

The country I call mine is an ace of spades,

sheltering my family and threatening

many more. I wish equality was as easy to win

as it is to spell, but Spelling Bees are a child’s

battlefield and injustice is an adult’s—

as it should be.

I am a daughter of little merit, a writer of ill consistency,

and a dreamer who keeps one foot

on the ground at all times to maintain

a connection with a world eager

to forget my name.

**Author's Note:**

> My final assignment for my Creative Writing class, which I'm moderately proud enough of to post.
> 
> Taking this class cemented the fact that I am not a poet.
> 
> (But in better news, I'm taking a Fiction class next semester!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [our selves are honest reflections of the soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943340) by [MTKiseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTKiseki/pseuds/MTKiseki)




End file.
